


Tea and Memory

by Eida



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Gen, three sentence ficathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 12:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7640548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eida/pseuds/Eida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Preparing tea is an old, familiar ritual for Iroh; hot water, leaves, teapot, cup; the fragrant aroma steaming up into the air, swirling like mist, or a half-glimpsed spirit.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>A ficlet about Iroh, tea, and the ghosts of his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea and Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the 2016 Three Sentence Ficathon on dreamwidth, for the prompt "ATLA, Iroh, Ghosts," first posted [here.](http://3sentencefic.dreamwidth.org/493.html?thread=35309#cmt35309)

Preparing tea is an old, familiar ritual for Iroh; hot water, leaves, teapot, cup; the fragrant aroma steaming up into the air, swirling like mist, or a half-glimpsed spirit.

He remembers introducing the drink to Lu Ten, many years ago; he remembers long conversations with his son, sipping tea and speaking of anything and everything; he remembers how those conversations changed as Lu Ten grew into the fullness of his manhood, and how proud Iroh had been to have raised a son so wonderful, so strong and brilliant; he remembers how he wept when he heard of his son's death, and how there were certain blends--Lu Ten's old favorites--that he avoided for years afterward.

Lu Ten is an almost palpable presence, now, as the steam from this latest pot of tea rises into the air--but he is not the only one; there are other sons, and daughters, soldiers of the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom, all of whom had once sat with friends and family and lovers over a pot of tea, talking and laughing; Iroh sits among his ghosts, and he pours one cup of tea for himself, and another as an offering, of sorts, not only for his son, but to those who his son fought and died with, and those who, under different circumstances, might have been friends; the aroma of spices drifts up into the air like incense, slowly cooling, the steam gradually disappearing as Iroh sips his tea and remembers.


End file.
